Breakout

by Ann Aguirre

  Then something slammed into the craft, an impact that rocked them and spun the tiny ship. The electrical fluctuated, sparks popped from the panel that had killed Duran. Dred ducked away from the short and hoped like hell life support didn’t fail. When she thought about the rushed way they’d thrown this together, it was frankly terrifying that they’d taken it out into space.

  Vost fought with the controls while Dred tumbled around back. She wished there was something she could do, but she wasn’t a pilot. Jael reached out and grabbed her hand, not to keep from falling but in solidarity. Whatever happens, his eyes said, you’re not alone.

  An alarm went off as Vost struggled; and then he seemed to find a pocket of calm in all the chaos. She glanced out the view screen and saw that they were . . . riding, for want of a better word just before a giant piece of shrapnel from the station. If he can hold this position, then we should make it. The mercenary commander input a series of commands, but she knew they didn’t even have a nav computer, so he had to keep them on track manually.

  Everyone fell silent.

  The celebratory mood died as the others realized they weren’t out of danger yet. One by one, they joined hands, Calypso with Dred, whose fingers were already entwined with Jael’s. Martine took his other hand, and Dred bit her lower lip until it bled. Nobody spoke in case it disrupted Vost’s concentration. Tam seemed to be frantically calculating trajectory on the handheld. She closed her eyes and offered a plea to Mary.

  I’ve done a lot of terrible things. But please. Give us a second chance.

  It was impossible to say how long they sat in tense silence, but at last Vost said to Tam, “That’s it. The wave’s dissipating.” He jogged the craft, getting them out of the shadow of the slab they’d been surfing, then slowed, so the metal zinged past.

  Dred didn’t see anything else nearby. Which made sense since all of the debris spread in a roughly spherical blast radius. It would’ve been strange if everything converged on one spot.

  “Then we’re clear?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “How much fuel do we have left?”

  “Fourteen hours.”

  That wouldn’t get them far, Dred knew. But she still cheered along with everyone else, hugging Calypso and Martine, then Jael. In escaping, she felt light as a feather, as if she’d chucked the burdens of her old life in leaving Perdition behind. A few minutes later, Tam left the cockpit and came for his share of the heroic accolades. He collapsed next to Martine, and she put her arms around him.

  “Good work,” Martine said.

  “We’re out,” Calypso mumbled. “But now we’re stuck in a ship that doesn’t even have san facilities.”

  “Sure we do.” Dred thumbed in the direction of the buckets in the corner.

  Calypso scowled at her. “Those will fill up fast. And we have no way to empty them.”

  It’s definitely not ideal. But it’s a stepping-stone to better things.

  Vost spoke for the first time since the situation got dicey. “I’m aware that you know what happened with Keelah. Tam asked for my side of it, and I hope you’ll listen to him.”

  “We don’t have a choice,” Jael said. “For now, we need you.”

  “And that’ll continue until we reach civilization, where we can amicably part ways.”

  The way Jael’s eyes flashed made Dred think he wasn’t on board with that, but he didn’t say anything else. Dred squeezed his hand. Now’s not the time.

  In a low voice, Tam shared what he’d learned about Keelah’s death. The others rumbled, and, finally, Martine muttered, “Of course he’d say that. We can’t prove otherwise.”

  That revelation didn’t materially change what they had to do. Survival came first.

  Vost seemed to realize they were done conferring because he spoke again. “I’m plotting a course to the nearest beacon. If I conserve fuel, I can get us within bounce range. It’ll take time, but with this signal, I can attract a ride.”

  “Before the food runs out?” Dred asked.

  Vost glanced over his shoulder. “We may have to tighten our belts. Martine, I won’t be able to stay at the helm twenty-four/seven. Can you keep us on course?”

  “I think so. I’ve stolen a few ships in my day.”

  “Crashed them, too, I bet,” Calypso said, grinning.

  Martine pretended to be indignant. “But there’s nothing out here for me to hit.”

  Vost ignored their jokes, and Dred wondered if he was worried about being killed in his sleep. “You won’t be able to replicate the signal without me, by the way. It’s unique to Ronin Group, my guild.”

  “Ah, so that’s why you expect someone to check it out,” Jael noted.

  She released a slow breath, leaning her head against the wall. Dred didn’t mean to fall asleep, but the stress of the past however many days caught up to her. Unknown hours later, she woke to find the ship dead quiet. Huh. That’s probably not a good sign.

  Everyone was asleep but Vost, who was still in the pilot seat. The merc looked like hell, though, with circles deep enough to swallow his eyes. He hadn’t bathed or shaved in a week, it seemed. From his pallor, his wounds hadn’t healed completely either. She pushed to her feet, wishing they had better facilities. But everyone would stink soon. Perdition had definitely been worse. Vost glanced up as she sat beside him.

  “Why’s the ship so quiet?”

  “We ran through our fuel.”

  “I was out fourteen hours?”

  His mouth twisted. “Guess you were tired.”

  So we’re adrift. When power drains from all the cells, life support will falter.

  Dred crossed her fingers, quietly terrified that this was how their story ended. “Are we close enough for the signal to make it on the bounce?”

  • • •

  JAEL covered his mouth with a palm. They had been drifting for five days. The heap smelled indescribable, comparable to the Bug prison. Everyone was angry and scared, tired of each other’s faces, but there was no privacy. As tempers frayed, and the paste ran low, fights broke out. Dred played peacemaker, keeping a bunch of violent felons from increasing their odds of survival. The center can’t hold.

  On day six, the water ran out.

  His lips burned. His throat felt tight. On the plus side, he didn’t need to piss anymore. Maybe it would’ve been better to die in battle. The air was getting thin, too, as the power cells burned out. They were running the most basic functions, just life support and the signal.

  It won’t be enough. We need a miracle.

  On day seven, the console finally lit up with a faint response signal. Vost shouted in excitement and picked up the comm. “This is 9824, who is this?”

  A woman’s voice responded, sharp with surprise. “8729. Vost, is that you? Everyone’s given you up for dead.”

  “I could use a lift,” Vost said. “My ship’s DOA.”

  “How many for transport?” the other merc asked.

  “Six.”

  “That’s a light load. Sounds like a job went south on you.”

  “You have no idea. How far out are you?”

  “Two hours, we just came out of grimspace. Lucky for you, we caught your signal.”

  “See you soon,” Vost said.

  Jael could tell from glancing at the others that they were afraid to celebrate yet. He wouldn’t be doing the victory dance until they were actually on board the other vessel. Through those last two hours, he just held Dred’s hand quietly, until he actually saw the lights on the view screen. Calypso teared up—the only time he’d ever seen her cry—and Martine buried her face in Tam’s shoulder. Tense, they held on to each other as their craft banged into the other vessel’s cargo hold.

  When the merc commander turned, Jael said, “We’ll call it square for the ride.”

  “What happens on Pe
rdition stays on Perdition?” the other man said with a weary half smile.

  Martine choked out a rough laugh. “Something like that. I’m not starting shit when it’s your mates getting us out of trouble.”

  Jael glanced around to make sure the others agreed. A consensus of nods came back. Guilt pricked at him because he’d promised Keelah that her death wouldn’t go unanswered, but since they were riding on Vost’s credit, he’d get everyone else killed if he started something on the merc ship. So he made the offer of peace while thinking about breaking it as soon as they hit civilization. Yet that didn’t feel quite right either. On Perdition, he’d cast off the person who used to crack promises like knuckles and think nothing of it.

  Huh. Seems like my word means something now.

  Vost opened the front hatch as Martine popped the back, and they all fell out onto metal flooring that didn’t belong to the station or the craft that almost killed them. Freedom. So close. His knees buckled because he’d stopped eating four days ago, knowing the others could take less physical deprivation than he could. But the container bay was swimming now.

  “Vost, you son of a bitch, it is you.” The booming voice came from behind him, and Jael angled his head to take in their rescuer.

  She was a big woman, both large and tall, and most of it was muscle though she had a generously padded gut that spoke of success. Snug trousers were tucked into thick-soled boots that brought her up to eye level with Vost; she slapped his shoulder in a hearty greeting. Jael could tell she wasn’t vain since her garb was utilitarian, shirt and vest in gray and brown respectively, the latter loaded down with tools. She also had short red hair streaked through with white, and her weathered face had smile lines, giving Jael some hope that this would be a soft landing. Really, though, it all depended how Vost played it. If he admitted they were inmates, the mercs might try to turn them in for the bounty.

  And then it’s a bloodbath. We take the ship or die trying.

  His nerves prickled tight. Vost glanced over and beckoned them forward. “This is what’s left of my unit,” he said.

  “Phew.” The ship’s captain took a step back. “You won’t be getting a warm welcome until you hit the san. That includes you, Vost.”

  The merc nodded. “Appreciate it. We were out of water and almost through our paste.”

  “You owe me big then.”

  “You can sell our junker for scrap to cover the cost of our passage,” Vost said. “Plus I’ll throw in some credits to sweeten the deal.”

  “We’ll talk compensation later, brother. I can see you’re all unsteady on your pins. Especially you, handsome.” She threw a wink at Jael. “I’m Ernestine Holland. If I like you better than I do Vost, you can call me Ernie. Time will tell. Now let’s get you lot inside.”

  On Vost’s say-so alone, she opened the main doors leading from the hold into the ship. Which was a good size, well maintained, and impressively laid out, especially for a merc vessel. He’d served on a lot of them, and they usually smelled about as bad as the heap they’d just left. But these hallways were clean, with all the areas divided by function, and there were even separate living quarters.

  “You’ve made some upgrades,” Vost said.

  “Don’t hate me because my ship’s beautiful,” Ernie answered, smirking.

  Vost patted her shoulder. “That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  Grinning, she escorted them down the hall to the san. “There’s one here, one there. Form a line and be quick. I’ll leave clean gear in a pile. When you’re done, head to the mess, which is that way. I’ll have some grub waiting, listen to your sad story, and decide how much I’m charging to save your asses.”

  32

  Down-Cycle Mutiny

  Dred waited until everyone else was done in the san, so she could take her time. She scrubbed until her skin hurt, the mist washing away the longest week of her life. In fact, the only reason she came out was for the promise of food. She didn’t like going into debt with a bunch of strangers, but there was no other solution.

  Unable to believe Vost didn’t plan to turn on them, she closed her eyes and scanned the ship. The moods all looked normal enough, nothing extreme or alarming. Apparently, Perdition made you paranoid. Not surprising. Seven days without adequate food and water left her weak as hell, so that effort drained her dry. Shaking, she turned off the san and pulled on her borrowed clothing, plain gray pants and shirt, obviously from the lowest wardrober setting. Still, nobody else had ever worn it—the clothing had been generated especially for her. That felt like luxury.

  Most of the merc crew were waiting in the mess, along with all of her mates. Her gaze found Jael, who lifted a hand as if reaching for her across distance. Her heart pinged, a strange and lovely feeling. Dred skirted everyone else and took a chair beside him.

  Bowls of food were waiting—meat or a good synth version, Kitchen-mate veggies and bread. Damn, it feels weird having a proper meal. She remembered when she had to guard her bowl and cup because they didn’t have many of them, and unlike the freaks, her people didn’t fashion eating implements out of skulls and femurs.

  “Looks good,” Calypso said. “Thank you very much.”

  Martine added her voice, as did they all. Tam was quiet, but Dred guessed he was weighing the others and taking their measure. What she’d seen with her Psi ability was good enough, however. Her stomach growled as the captain started passing the dishes around.

  “Let them eat first,” she instructed. “You can tell by looking they’ve had a worse run than you lot ever dreamt of. Care to tell me about it?”

  “We tried to clean out Perdition,” Vost said.

  Ernie’s eyes widened. “Mary’s tits, never say you took that job? A drunken Rodeisian would know better. When the pay’s too good to be true—”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Well, I understand why there’s so few of you left. Say no more.”

  “I didn’t plan to,” Vost said with a certain grim amusement.

  “If it’s any consolation,” Calypso said, eating a bite of something orange and delicious-looking, “we left the place in pieces.”

  Ernie burst out laughing. “I gather those weren’t the mission parameters?”

  “Nope. Somebody wanted to repurpose. Looks like they have to find a better site for whatever off-the-books black op they wanted to run.”

  The redhead grinned. “Sad day to be a bureaucrat, eh?”

  Tam smiled for the first time, apparently coming to the conclusion that it was best to be affable, and raised his glass. “Here’s to our charming savior. If there’s any way we can make ourselves useful until we make port, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “How are you at bunk sports?” Ernie asked, deadpan.

  That reminded Dred so much of Calypso’s approach to Duran that she was smiling before she realized it. Part of her expected Martine to object, so she was amused when the smaller woman said, “He takes orders beautifully. That’s usually my purview, but in light of recent events, I don’t mind sharing at all.” From her expression, that seemed to be true.

  Fascinated, Dred propped her chin on her hand and waited to see how this would play out. Below the table, Jael squeezed her knee, and she glanced over at him. Don’t get any ideas, he mouthed. She grinned more.

  “Hm. I don’t like coming between a happy couple unless they enjoy that sort of thing.” When Ernie chuckled out loud, she revealed a gold tooth. “So how about it?”

  “I’m not averse,” Tam said.

  The captain patted his leg, then Martine’s. “Let’s finish eating, shall we? I don’t want either of you pretty birds to faint before the fun’s through.”

  “I never get invited to the best parties,” Calypso muttered.

  “Darling, you’d be welcome, but even the captain’s quarters have a capacity limit. If you still feel that way
when we hit Gehenna . . .” Ernie trailed off with a cheerful wink.

  Dred wasn’t sure if the woman was truly so lusty or if it was a role she played to get others to let their guard down. She’d noticed that if people thought you were laser-focused on your libido, they tended to discount you otherwise, so she made a mental note not to do that with Ernie Holland.

  “It stings being second choice,” Calypso said, “but I’ll take it as an invitation to an extended private affair.”

  “You were en route to Gehenna?” Vost cut in.

  “So we were. You pulled us off course with your message, but . . .” She pretended to consult her crew. “His life’s worth the cost of fuel, right?”

  “Might be,” said a dark-skinned man with golden eyes. “Shall we auction him to find out?”

  “Funny, Higgins.” Vost threw a crust of bread across the table. “Which reminds me. I haven’t introduced all you jokers.”

  Dred promptly forgot the fifteen names the merc rattled off. There was a mix of aliens and humans of varying genotype. They seemed to be a cheerful, prosperous lot, much better than the ones who offered her a berth when she fled the colony she was born on. They’d done mostly scut work, jobs no respectable crew would take on. From what she could recall, they hadn’t even been guilded.

  But I was too naïve to realize that they were complete scum. Until it was too late.

  Once dinner ended, Ernie asked their specialties, an awkward moment. Vost filled in, “Tam is my recon expert. Martine specializes in demolitions and difficult extractions. Calypso handles all of our interrogations. Jael is a hitter with some security know-how.”

  “And Dred?” Ernie asked.

  “Special teams.”

  She couldn’t remember what that meant in merc terms, but Ernie studied her with all-new respect. “Good to know. Your accommodations won’t be private, I’m afraid. We don’t haul many passengers, so I only have one spare room with limited bunk space.”

  “It’s fine,” Jael said. “Perdition wasn’t exactly hospitable.”